


Above the Clouds

by Dardrea



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Rumbelle - Fandom
Genre: Cusco, F/M, Machu Picchu - Freeform, Peru, RSS 2015, The Emperor's New Groove - Freeform, Tour Guide!Belle, Tourist!Gold, Vacation, non magical au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 23:04:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5473811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dardrea/pseuds/Dardrea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My 2015 Rumbelle Secret Santa fic for the wonderful <a href="http://fuckingnamechoise.tumblr.com/">fuckingnamechoise</a> Merry RSS! It's been so much fun being your Secret Santa! ^_^</p><p>Also, as will undoubtedly be clear to anyone who speaks Spanish...I don't. And google translate is notoriously unreliable, so if you notice a problem with my Spanish or my info on Peru/Cusco/Machu Picchu, South America, etc, don't be afraid to let me know so I can fix it and not look like a total knucklehead? :o</p><p>And many thanks to the awesome suchadearie for plotting help, cheer leading, and very-last-minute betaing! I was not prepared for RSS. O.O</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FuckinNameChoise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuckinNameChoise/gifts).



 

Belle bounced where she stood, trying to disguise her excitement as an attempt to appear as though she were just trying to peer over the shoulders of the people milling in front of her. It wasn’t a bad attempt, the fact that she wasn’t much over 5 feet in her sneakers helped.

It was the first time she’d been trusted with so much responsibility on this job. Her very own private tour for a newlywed American couple. Just them and her and the wonders of ancient Peru.

It wasn’t exactly the job she’d dreamed of, studying for a degree in ancient civilizations. Her parents had assumed she’d stay closer to home and study one of the aboriginal peoples of Australia, but when the opportunity has arisen to study abroad—South America! The Amazon! Peru!—she’d jumped at the call to adventure.

 She’d moved around the world. She’d learned Spanish. She’d finished her degree but not her studies. There were further opportunities, but not for pay, and if she wanted to stay she needed a job.

So she’d applied at a small tour company as a guide to the same ruins she was studying.

* * *

 

“Do you have to be so damned cheerful?” Christoph Gold demanded of his traveling companion. He wasn’t being maudlin, he was displaying decorum. He tossed back another shot of whiskey to emphasize the point to himself.

His “friend,” who was clearly determined to be more of an annoyance than a consolation on this trip, cast him an unrepentant grin. “It is a beautiful day in a beautiful country. And I get a free trip to see it all. What’s not to be cheerful about?” Josef Landler teased in his notoriously elegant German-accented English, spreading his arms wide as if to encompass the whole of the day, country, and world that so delighted him.

“I keep telling you, you’re free to pay me back for your half of the trip,” Gold growled, in what he freely admitted was the considerably ‘lower’ accent of his poor Glaswegian upbringing, pouring out another careful measure, mindful of the gentle movement of the plane.

They made an elegant pair in spite of their very different backgrounds, Gold in his tailored suit, Landler in his more casual but also probably more expensive slacks and polo shirt, a sweater draped over his shoulders in a way Gold found obnoxious in its affected casualness.

“Me? A starving actor—”

Gold looked over from his whiskey long enough to sneer. “You made more from that movie than I did!”

The other man nodded wisely. “It is a shame how little they pay the writers in Hollywood. Truly.”

As Landler raised his phone again to continue taking a video of the spreading green landscape on the other side of the window—while humming, damn him—Gold looked back to the not-completely-terrible whiskey in his glass and muttered under his breath, “I’ll be expecting that check soon, then?”

* * *

 

Chicha and Pacha, her bosses, were wonderful. They couldn’t afford to pay much but they’d let her stay in the attic of their house as part of her wages and were flexible with her assignments so she could continue her work with the University and Chicha insisted on feeding her more times than not.

Pacha was a local with deep roots in Cusco. The house where he lived with Chicha and their kids—and now Belle—was the same one his father and grandfather had grown up in and the land had been in his family for longer than that. Chicha had moved from her home in Lima when she’d married him and the small tour company they operated had been her idea. They didn’t make much with so much competition, but Pacha’s family’s long history in the area helped, both with his ability to act as a guide and with the connections he had.

This was a desperately important tour for their small business, their first contracted tour with a larger company from Lima that handled packages that spanned the country and continent. P&C Tours was only handling the last leg of a longer tour, the part through Cusco, the Sacred Valley, and Machu Pichu.

Pacha should have been the one to lead it. Cusco was his home. Machu Pichu was his home away from home. He knew the land, he knew the people, he knew the ruins and his family had _lived_ the history. Unfortunately, he was in the middle of heading a four day hike through the Inca Trail, a fiercely regulated honor, and he could hardly drop everything to come back and take this tour, no matter how important it was.

That would have been fine normally, if Pacha couldn’t lead the tour Chicha was more than capable—except that at the moment she was hugely pregnant, and while she was quite active and as healthy as a horse with their third child, she still wasn’t in a position to be running tourists around town and through the ruins, making sure they didn’t hurt themselves or, more importantly, the historical sites they’d come to see.

So it was up to Belle. She had the iternary that the couple had been promised, had made contact with their driver—no taxis or common public transport for _this_ couple—and the charge account of the Lima-based Los Imperios de Oro Tours just in case of any emergencies.

Now she just needed her rich Americans.

* * *

 

“There now, it’s your own fault for drinking all that whisky. You hardly ever drink. What were you thinking?” Landler greeted the slightly green-tinged Gold as the latter slunk back to his seat, obeying the glowing seatbelt sign and the overhead announcement that they were preparing for the descent that was the only thing that had pulled him from the first class bathroom.

He immediately gripped his arm rest with one hand, the other pressing lightly at his still-churning stomach. “I was _thinking_ to drown my sorrows,” Gold hissed through gritted teeth.

“Well you picked a bad time for it.”

“I’m aware of that!”

* * *

 

The plane was in!

First class should have been the first to disembark but Belle waited, holding her sign up, an eager smile for everyone who passed but no one gave her or her sign more than a cursory glance and a vague smile in return, and most offered less than that, rushing past, some to open-armed embraces with people in the crowd she’d been waiting with, others to jostle impatiently at the luggage carrousel.

Business men and women and elegant couples, only slightly disheveled from flying, families with diaper bags and trailing children glued to their electronics, tired locals, grateful to be home, the obvious tourists, wide eyed, phones out to record their adventures.

Belle started to droop as the flood of eager passengers slowed to a trickle.

She pulled out her phone to check again that she was at the right gate and time for the flight according to the email Chicha had forwarded to her.

Of course her phone was a piece of junk, the cheapest she’d been able to get just to get her by and it didn’t want to connect and when it finally did the email didn’t want to load anyway—and then someone was clearing their throat.

She looked up to face a very pale, faintly green man in a rumpled suit, dark-eyed and glaring through overlong, graying hair that looked like it could use a bit of brush.

He nodded his chin at the sign she’d folded, script out, and tucked between her legs to free her hands for the phone. “Are you Daniela?” he demanded, in a thick brogue.

She just blinked.

Someone else came from behind him, more classically handsome than his beaky-nosed companion, salt and pepper hair trimmed short and salt and pepper beard perfectly groomed. “Perdonar mi amigo,” he said with only a slight accent and an easy grin, “Estamos buscando a nuestro guía de Los Imperios de Oro—Daniela Huamán. ¿Eres Daniela?”

“Show off,” the darker man mumbled behind him.

Belle shook her head. A fine first impression she was making. She quickly stuck out her hand.

“No, sorry. I am from—uh, Los Imperios de Oro, but the name’s Belle. Daniela had an emergency and they sent me in her place. You two are the…ah…the Golds?”

“Ah! Australian! How charming,” the man said, his accented English possibly even lovelier than his accented Spanish—and easier for her ear to recognize as German. His smile widened and somehow brightened. He took her hand in a warm grip and squeezed it rather than shaking it, bowing slightly. “Très belle, indeed.”

“Now just a minute,” the other man said, butting his companion out of the way so he could face Belle again. “How do we know you’re really our tour guide? The literature said quite clearly we’d be met by Daniela Huamán. What sort of fly-by-night business are we supposed to believe you’re running here?”

“Christoph,” the friendlier of the two said, a warning in his tone.

“No! You’re, uh, you’re right to want confirmation,” Belle stammered. “There should have been an email from the company about the change? I was told there would be, we can get them on the phone but the office is probably closed for lunch—”

But the one who wasn’t Christoph turned to his friend with a raised brow. “Well? Did we get an email?”

The other man had already pulled out his phone and was jabbing angrily at the screen, muttering under his breath, something about bad business practices and irresponsible idiots.

She winced. They were definitely going to complain and Los Imperios de Oro was definitely never going to use C&P Tours again and it would all be her fault when Pacha and Chicha couldn’t afford—

“There, you see!” The friendly man announced, clapping his hands. “Just as our lovely new friend has said. So! We shall have the pleasure of being joined on our exciting adventure by the intrepid Ms. Belle French, then?”

She nodded, relieved, giving him a grateful smile.

“Still say it’s shady of them to change guides on us at the last minute,” the decidedly less friendly man muttered, shoving his phone back into a pocket inside his jacket.

“Of course you do,” the other man agreed absently, his smiling glance on Belle never wavering.

Belle pinned her own best, desperately cheerful smile on and pulled her own phone out. “Pleased to meet you both!” She said as though anyone had actually introduced themselves properly. “I’ll just ring for the driver and we can get your luggage and be on our way to your hotel.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Kronk?”

“Yes. Kronk,” Belle said sharply, already onto the grumpy—and sick, though whether it was motion sickness from the plane or altitude sickness from the…well, altitude, she couldn’t say—Scotsman’s snark. “He’s an excellent driver, a local, and he’s very nice.”

 _Unlike you_ , she didn’t add because he was paying a lot of money for her services and she needed his good will. But the words hung in the air as if she had.

He humphed.

“Of course he is, of course he is,” the other man said jovially. “Ah—and dare I hazard to guess this is him now?” he mused, his tone turning faint as the towering mountain of a man came bounding up to them, his chest like a barrel, his biceps stretching the sleeves of his company tee-shirt, his long curling hair flowing in shiny waves from under a black baseball cap emblazoned with the Los Imperios de Oro logo of a gold sun rising over a golden pyramid.

He cast all three of them, neither of the men very tall and Belle positively tiny, in his shadow, but his smile looked sincere, brilliantly white as it was, and although she’d spoken to him on the way to the airport Belle was still surprised again by the echoing depth of his voice.

“Good afternoon,” he said, about the sum of his English from what he’d told Belle earlier.

“Buenas tardes,” the German said pleasantly in Spanish. The Scot humphed again.

“This is Kronk,” Belle said, waving to him. “Kronk, su nombre es…ah…Christoph…”

“—Gold,” the German finished, helping her out. “Y mi nombre es Josef Landler. Mucho gusto.”

His placid grin broke a bit as the larger man shook his hand, either because of the force of the squeeze or the enthusiasm with which his hand was pumped up and down. Belle winced.

“¿Puedes coger las bolsas por favor, Kronk?” She waved meaningfully at the large rolling suitcases beside their charges.

“¡Oh, sí, sí!” he agreed, ignoring the wheels and quickly picking up the two suitcases as though they were no more than the most lightly packed of carry-ons and turning to take them out to the car.

“Follow Kronk, please, and we’ll have you two settled in, in no time,” she told them cheerfully, glad to take up the rear of their procession, an eye on making sure the surly Mr. Gold didn’t take it into his head to make a run for it just so he could grump that they’d lost him or something. Her newlyweds weren’t quite what she’d expected, but she was determined to make this work.

She couldn’t quite shake the feeling that the nicer of the two seemed familiar though.

* * *

 

“They seem nice,” Kronk said, the luggage stowed, the ‘Americans’ settled, and the privacy screen up between the front and back seats of the car while he navigated the airport traffic.

“It doesn’t matter if they’re nice. We’re not here to make friends. They’re paying a lot of money to get the best tour possible.” She was going to maintain her focus and make this the trip of a lifetime that they were paying for and make Pacha and Chicha proud—and hopefully solidify their new business connection with Los Imperios de Oro and its international ties.

“Well, alright. But they still seem nice,” he said again.

* * *

 

“I think he’s sick.”

“I think so.”

Belle was at a loss. Generally it was frowned upon to leap out of a car and start throwing up in the bushes, especially at a hotel like this one, where someone with her funds wouldn’t generally be welcome unless it was through the employee entrance because she was applying to work there. On the other hand, at least he’d made it out of the car first.

After commenting on Mr. Gold’s apparent predicament Kronk had gotten out to unload the suitcases for an equally bemused bellman, though the hotel employee was too well trained—and paid—to let the foibles of the wealthy guests draw any censure from him, disappearing back into the hotel while Landler patted Gold on the shoulders and helped him straighten up.

“A place to sit?” Landler inquired.

“Right this way!” she said, suddenly rushing to get them into the temperature controlled lobby where they could sit in comfort while she spoke with the front desk and checked them in.

Fortunately the front desk staff were as efficient as the bellmen and in moments they were all being ushered up to their suite.

As soon as they were in the room a still green Mr. Gold weakly excused himself to the restroom, leaving Landler to direct the placement of their luggage and tip the discreet bellman.

Belle was left standing awkwardly next to the luggage, staring out the large window at a stunning view: to the left, manicured lawns and landscaped gardens, to the right, trees and shrubs and at least the illusion of untamed mountainside, the same as might have been seen hundreds of years of earlier. The new world fading into the old one; a modern landscape of luxury framed by the echoes of an older world steeped in mysteries still unexplored.

It was a juxtaposition she loved.

“So—what’s on the agenda now? I believe people watching and dinner was mentioned in the itinerary?”

Belle shot Landler a confused look, startled by his casualness while his partner was audibly ill in the bathroom.

“Altitude sickness is—”

He waved her words away.

“He’s fine. He overindulged in his whiskey on the flight from Lima. And in the hotel before we left Lima. And on the flight from the States.” He chuckled and leaned in conspiratorially. “Imagine, a Scot who can’t hold his scotch! I tried to warn him; he’s brought this on himself by ignoring me.”

She smiled weakly in response to his words, though she found his lack of compassion a little difficult to grasp.

“Well, Kronk _was_ ready to take us to the Plaza de Armas, the heart of Cusco since the time of the Inca. We can walk along Hatunrumiyoc and see the ancient Inca Walls as they’ve stood for centuries. And there’s the amazing art and architecture of the cathedral and the churches of El Triunfo and Jesus María where—”

She broke off at his laugh and startled at his hand suddenly on her shoulder which would have felt almost flirty if she hadn’t known better.

“Please, save the history lessons for my friend when he’s feeling better. We can catch up on all that later. I’m much more interested in the people—and the present. I’d love to see _your_ favorite parts of the city.”

e

Those were some of her favorite parts of the city. The museums, the art, the ancient architecture that had survived the incursions of the Europeans and spoke of deeper roots still, before even the Inca had taken power. 

She was flustered.

“Ah—the Plaza—”

He clapped his hands again, an arm around her, sweeping her up and out of the room somehow before she could object. “Well, we’ll figure it out, shall we? The sooner we go, the sooner the adventure can begin!”

“Mr. Gold—”

“Will be _fine._ ”

* * *

 

She’d intended to take him on the best tour she could give him, professional, decorous. Cusco was a beautiful city with an amazing history, but somehow, in spite of her best intentions he managed to talk her into bringing him to a small but friendly bar, well off the beaten track for tourists, where students and occasionally faculty from the university hung out.

It _was_ her favorite place to unwind in her off time, casual and raucous, with a good energy, live music, and fairly inexpensive drinks. It wasn’t at all the kind of place someone paying the sort of money he and Gold had laid down on their vacation belonged, but in spite of that he fit in remarkably well with a group of her friends that happened to be in that night.

One girl struck up a conversation with him, practicing her conversational German. Belle found out he was actually from Austria and she hoped his relationship with Gold was an open one because the way he was flirting with several of her friends certainly seemed to be more than for show.

Two of them insisted he looked familiar but neither could quite place him and his sphinx-like smile gave away nothing.

She tried to hold on to her professionalism but when he was insisting on buying the rounds, pouting that it was rude to abstain while everyone else in the group was enjoying themselves—which wasn’t untrue, and they did have Kronk as their obligatory sober driver—she ended up indulging more than she should have.

And staying out later than she should have.

And getting closer to him than she should have, pressed up against him in a tiny booth, close enough to smell his expensive cologne, dancing with him in a space tight enough to force her inappropriately close, but fortunately she’d always had a good metabolism for alcohol, so even seeing the bar close and demurring on continuing the party with the wilder of her friends, she was still in a sound enough state to fend off her adventurous-and-spoken-for Austrian, and still wrangle him away from the promise of more partying and back to the calm and safety of his upscale hotel in the early hours of the morning, though it was a close thing, persuasive as he was.

* * *

 

Women were the devil.

And whisky was…it was…it was the devil’s bathwater.

At least it left the taste of old bathwater in his mouth, foul and heavy on his palate, thickly coating his tongue and burning his throat.

He didn’t even like drinking. His first wife’s fondness for it, night after night of it, while he was struggling to make ends meet for their little family, had given him a bad taste for it. One too many nights spent in seedy bars, begging her to come home, to remember their son, to remember their vows, wreathed in that smell, surrounded by the human dregs left by liquor’s consuming embrace, soggy and pathetic.

Only another woman could have driven him to it.

 _Cora Mills_. His ship in the night.

A few years after his divorcethey’d had a fling that had ended when she’d left him for a man with less money but better social connections. When they’d met again he’d been cautious, but she’d been…well, she’d seemed equally cautious. Mature. More sure of what she wanted. She had both money and connections now. Everything she’d wanted when she’d been the ambitious upstart he’d understood so well. They’d started dating again.

They’d gotten engaged.

This time it was on the eve of her wedding to _him_ that she’d once again left him for another man, aCongressman with an eye on the White House.

It seems she still hadn’t met all of her ambitions and it seemed he still wasn’t enough to do so.

And he was left to share what was supposed to have been _their_ honeymoon trip with an actor friend he’d met on the set of the movie someone had made of one of his books, a silly little sideline of his that he’d taken up on a lark when his son had started high school and he’d needed something to fill the time that a growing boy had been beginning to need less of. (It was a silly sideline that had taken off far more than he’d ever anticipated, though he still made more from his real estate holdings than from his little books, and far more than from the movie, even though he’d written the screen play himself.)

He was cursing gregarious actors, and know-it-all Austrian ones in particular, for nagging that had obligated him to drink even more than he’d intended to and for abandoning him to his miserable and lonely death while Landler trotted off with the unfairly lovely guide that _Gold_ had paid for, to explore the city _Gold_ had dreamed of seeing for years—when someone knocked at the door.

He’d collapsed in a heap on the couch in the sitting area of their suite and he would have just ignored the knocking but it made his head throb even more in sympathy with the unfeeling wood and he thought he might have heard the words “room service” and at least if it was the hotel staff then maybe he could get them to stop pounding on his skull/the door without having to get up.

“Come in!” he called, his voice breaking as he winced in pain at the sound of his own words pinballing around inside his throbbing head.

After a moment the door was indeed pushed open without him having to stand up and after a brief hesitation, long enough for the room service server to give him a once over in his pitiful state, the cart was wheeled over next to the couch.

“I didn’t order anything,” he snarled, an infuriating thread of weakness to his words.

“No sir, the order was called in for you. Water, tea, crackers, soup, and a side of Advil,” the server announced, entirely too cheerfully. “And if you like, I can send up the hotel doctor for a quick visit, to prescribe something stronger for altitude sickness.”

“I don’t have altitude sickness.”

“It’s very common and nothing to be—”

“I _don’t_ have altitude sickness.”

“As you say, sir,” the server agreed, chastened in a way that made Gold feel a little better. He was a terror in business. He’d never had and never would have the political or social connections that Cora coveted but he didn’t need them to be intimidating. And he didn’t need her at all.

He eased himself back into the couch. Perhaps he _should_ drink some water. And maybe some tea wouldn’t hurt either.

“Thank you,” he said in dismissal.

* * *

 

Landler wove a little as they walked from the elevator to his suite. Belle hadn’t anticipated seeing it again so soon and she was a little afraid of giving him the wrong idea at this point, but she didn’t entirely trust him to get back to his room—and not sneak out again seeking more of Cusco’s nightlife, particularly that curvy brunette friend-of-friend from the undergrad department at the University that she’d kept having to peel him off of—if she wasn’t there to see him tucked back where he belonged.

She was also glad of the opportunity to check in on her other charge, thinking to herself that although being a tour guide had often felt a bit like babysitting, it hadn’t ever seemed quite so… _so_ , before. Of course the tours she usually led weren’t quite so all inclusive.

The room was dark but she could see by the light of the stars through the still open curtains that Gold was laid out on the couch rather than one of the beds.

Landler was quiet enough but he got a bit handsy on the way to the bed, making her very uncomfortable, more because Gold was right there, even if he was in a stupor, than because of the amiable Austrian’s efforts. Could they possibly have _that_ open of a relationship? And goodness knows, even if they did she didn’t want any part of it.

Once he fell onto his bed, still dressed, still in his shoes, she went to check on Gold.

She was pleased to see the room service cart beside him, and one of the bottles of water she’d ordered for him empty, some of the tea drank, some of the soup gone, and the blister pack of pain relievers missing a few pills.

She laid her hand over his forehead, startled when he opened his eyes—and oddly caught by them.

* * *

 

Women were the very devil. He wouldn’t stop reminding himself of that: faithless, false, money-grubbing, at least any one of them who’d profess interest in a sour, scrawny little thing like him—but for a moment he was sure it was an angel who was standing over him, her cool hand on his throbbing head. Or a fairy, like in the stories his aunts had told him while he’d been growing up, with her waves of dark hair shot through with starlight, her pale eyes shining warmly down on him.

When her soft palm trailed along the side of his face he nuzzled into it, and kissed her hand in thanks or silent plea for more of that tender touch, even he couldn’t have said.

“Uhm—hi. Are you feeling better?” she whispered, probably in deference to that ass, Landler, but her voice was so sweet he didn’t care.

“Aye.”

The old world in him came out when he was tired or emotional.

Her mouth worked, like she was silently mimicking his word, testing it out.

He was colder when she pulled her hand back. And disappointed.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,”

“Aye,” he said again, but this time she just left.


	3. Chapter 3

He would regret for a good, long time the way he'd come to Cusco, hungover, sick from the whisky and the plane ride, but at least he was mostly recovered by the next day. For all the fussing over him it wasn't altitude sickness for god's sake, as though he wasn't old enough to know a hangover when he had one.

His one consolation was that while Landler may have got the jump on him with their lovely guide she expressed absolute professional decorum with both of them as she led them on their private tour of the wonders of ancient Cusco—in spite of the gregarious actor's overblown attempts at flirting. Although why she kept shooting _him_ concerned looks he didn't quite understand.

When Landler had gotten particularly heavy handed with his interest and she'd first sent him that panicked look he couldn't deny he'd felt a certain boost to his shattered confidence. She was worried about his reaction. That meant she was interested in him, didn't it? In spite of seeing him at his worst, in spite of spending the evening with his friend doing god-knows-what but certainly not wandering through dusty ruins if he knew the man at all, she was more concerned about _his_ reaction than she was interested in flirting back with the charming Austrian and that had to mean...something.

(And women may be the very devil, but that didn't mean he wasn't interested in a vacation fling with a veritable angel to soothe his battered self-esteem on this trip that should have been his honeymoon.)

But when the concerned and even...pitying?—looks continued even when Landler flirted with other women, pretty tourists, locals, staff at the sites they visited, his doubts surfaced again. Was he just so pathetic she didn't think he could handle seeing any woman responding to his friend and leaving him out as a possible fifth wheel?

There were distractions aplenty from his petty worries though. This was a trip he'd been dreaming of for a long time. He'd have booked a tour with more time here if it had been up to him; it was for Cora that he'd compromised on a package that was less than a week split between Cusco and Machu Picchu and the rest of the time lazing about the expensive shops and golden beaches of Rio di Janeiro.

He'd always had a passion for history and their guide was knowledgable and passionate in her own right. His interest was generally more in the dry details of craftsmanship. He'd long fancied antiques, ancient artifacts, treasures from worlds and lives long gone. In another life he'd always thought he'd have gone into antiques, repairing, appraising, selling. Maybe opened a shop.

It was quickly clear that the pretty Australian's interest was in the people and what their antiquities and architecture told about them. The unbroken connection between the ones who'd faced the first encroaching Spaniards and the people who still inhabited the region today.

The Plaza de Armas, silent witness to the fall of the Inca, the Cathedral and convent of Santo Domingo, rising from the plundered ruins of Qurikancha, the Incan temple of the sun god, a new world laid over the still beating heart of the old one—she was so ardent and compelling that he didn't bother to admit how much he already knew from his own research before the trip, instead allowing her to share as much as she could get the breath to speak about in her impassioned accent.

Outside the city they visited the despoiled masonry of Saksaywaman, the religious shrine at Q'inqu, the military ruins of Puka Pukara, and the waters of Tambomachay.

 She described a history that lived and breathed, cultures that were conquered and outlawed and appropriated but held to their roots and pride in advanced sciences and mathematics, methods of agriculture, astronomy, and construction developed independent of European influence or interference—superior to them in their way, or at least superiorly adapted to their surroundings, as evidenced by ancient walls that stood strong through long centuries while modern ones crumbled under the devastating earthquakes that occasionally tore through the area.

She sparkled. Her words flowed around him, her voice as sweet as the ideas she expressed were fascinating, her information even more in-depth than the research he'd done. If he wasn't just getting over a broken heart—if he wasn't determined to cling to his bitterness and swear off all the fairer sex—he might have imagined himself half in love already.

Even Landler, who’s interests ran more to people watching and the pretty touristas, was occasionally caught by her enthusiasm, as little as he cared about ancient architecture, experimental farming, or permaculture in the Amazon.

* * *

 

Belle had been worried how her first ever one-on-one tour would go, with no elderly tourists to ensure had rest stops or children that needed to be entertained and moved along before they got themselves into trouble.

She knew she sometimes got carried away, too dry or too academic, too engrossed in the wonders of this world at the top of the world, but the much less green and not so incidentally less grumpy Mr. Gold at the very least put on a good show of interest, leaving her again and again blushing when she’d suddenly realize how her usual tour-guide spiel had evolved into a long lecture on some of the more arcane topics she’d devoted her academic life to.

His eyes never glazed over. His attention didn’t seem to wander, unless to the actual examples of her topics of discussion that they walked across and through—and she’d have liked him less if the art and architecture around them hadn’t had the power to steal his attention. She didn’t think she’d ever had so appreciative of an audience outside of her school friends.

Between Gold’s flattering fascination with her tour and Landler’s constant flirting this was not at all what she’d anticipated from her rich newlyweds.

* * *

 

They’d returned late to their hotel. Gold was glad to have the opportunity to get away from their guide and her beauty and her voice and her passion—at least until Landler inveigled an invitation to go out to her favorite local café for dinner. He tried not to be overly upset by the revelation that they’d already spent the previous night at her favorite tavern, with all her young friends from the university—oh, Landler must have been delighted, the horndog—but his best distraction was his panic at the thought of capping the day with yet more time with her.

Only his determination not to give _Landler_ more time alone with her kept him from bowing out. He just didn’t want to see the jetsetting actor take advantage of the sweet young tour guide, that was all.

She insisted they were fine to go as they were but Landler wanted to freshen up so they went up the room, leaving Belle to wait on them in the lobby.

* * *

 

“Tell me, my friend, is she not every bit as charming as I said? A bit pedantic, but still quite charming?” Landler asked in his broad, carrying manner, performing to his omnipresent invisible audience, while he primped in the bathroom mirror and Gold hopped into the shower to quickly rinse away a day of sweat and dust.

“Charming,” he drawled, not wanting to encourage the other man and not caring if he could be heard over the running water.

“I’m thinking of trying to talk her into joining us up here for a nightcap after dinner. I’ll need you to make yourself scarce of course, as soon as I—”

“Absolutely not!” Gold snarled, poking his head out of the shower. “I paid for this room, I’ll damned well not be locked out of it so you can strike up a…a _dalliance_ with our tour guide.”

“Oh?” Landler paused, one hand still dramatically at his temple, paused at its work on his disgustingly perfect hair. “I’m sorry, did you have designs in that direction yourself?”

Gold scoffed, quickly withdrawing back into the solitary safety of the expansive shower.

“Good for you! Back on the horse and all that. I never thought that Cora woman was right for you. Far too cold.”

“Cora was perfect for me. Ambitious—”

“—grasping.”

“Clever—”

“—manipulative.”

“Would you stop it?”

Landler only chuckled. “Now this pretty Australian, she talks almost as much as you do about the bygone ‘glories’ of dusty old history. I didn’t get around to asking her, but I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find out she reads your books.”

Grabbing a towel Gold stepped from the shower, irritation making his movements sharp and jerky.

“You can play the empty-headed dilettante all you like, but I know you didn’t just invite yourself along on this trip so you could sleep your way across South America.”

“Why, of course I didn’t! I came to console a dear, heartbroken friend in his time of ne—”

His squawk of protest when Gold tossed his wet towel over that perfectly coifed hair was quite satisfying.

* * *

 

If he hadn’t known better he’d have thought his wily traveling companion was actively trying to set him up, which was patently ridiculous.

Especially since the lovely little Australian he seemed determined to leave with Gold while he chatted up every person who approached the bar apparently had eyes only for Landler and she looked practically heartbroken to see him so focused on everyone but them and everything but their table.

Their faithful chauffeur, Kronk, was apparently also a fan of this place and had actually come in and taken up a table in a corner, settling in with a book and a plate of something that looked disturbingly like a fried rat. Cuy, he’d read about. Guinea pig. His son had had one, growing up. They’d had a funeral for it and he’d carved a wooden headstone to mark its grave.

The less adventurous _lomo saltado_ and ceviche starter Belle’d recommended both smelled glorious and tasted like ashes as he watched her casting yet another sidelong glance at the actor at the bar.

“This place is very nice. Good atmosphere,” he forced himself to say, wondering if it was even worth it to try to draw her attention back to him. He didn’t have Landler’s classic good looks or easy way in social situations but this was ridiculous. He wasn’t some twisted little imp, undeserving of a woman’s regard.

That finally pulled her gaze back and she gave him a small smile.

She leaned towards him to be heard over the piped in Spanish music blasting on the speaker above them.

“A little off the beaten path but it’s pretty traditional Peruvian food. And Miguel, at the bar over there, always gives me a discount if he’s working, which is nice when you’re a starving student.”

“Sucker for a pretty face, is he?”

Panic immediately welled up in him. What had he just said? What the hell was wrong with him?

Fortunately she laughed. “Oh, he doesn’t like—” She sent another of those odd looks towards Landler, who right at that moment was leaning forward in laughing conversation with the blond man she’d pointed out. She cleared her throat. “He’s in a committed relationship. He and his partner, Tulio, own this place. They’re both terrible flirts but they’re completely devoted to each other.” She looked at Gold now with an odd intensity he didn’t understand, just grateful she wasn’t angry that he’d implied she’d flirt her way into a discount on her meals.

“Ah—tomorrow we’re venturing back into the Sacred Valley, aren’t we?” he asked, grasping for a quick change of subject.

It was the right one.

Her face lit up and she launched into a cheerful recital of the itinerary for the next day. Starting in the market and ruins of Písac and moving out from there.

It was oddly comfortable to listen to her chattering to excitedly about small markets, salt collecting pools, and terraced farming.

Somehow from there they’d ended up talking about Glasgow and the midlands where he’d grown up, and then the suburban coast of Melborne where she’d been raised.

Somehow they’d moved closer to hear each other over the sound of the speaker above them.

Somehow his arm was behind her on her chair and her hand was on his other arm on the table.

He’d stuck to soft drinks—and even those he didn’t recognize, though the _chicha morada_ she made him try did turn out to be rather palatable—but she insisted he take a small taste of her pisco sour. He would have demurred, but she nibbled her full bottom lip while she held the glass out to him, her lips curling up in a challenging grin, and he’d been helpless to do other than lean forward to take a sip while she held it for him, their eyes locked in strange intimacy.

He couldn’t have said what her drink tasted like but she spilled as she pulled it away—were her hands shaking?—and immediately fell to babbling in embarrassment as she dabbed a tissue-thin napkin at his chest where his shirt had gone cold and wet and was suddenly sticking to him.

He caught her hand and didn’t let it go.

“It’s just a shirt,” he said.

She laughed and her eyes crinkled up, so intensely blue they’d put the sky to shame, though he managed to bite his tongue on that foolish sentiment.

“I suppose you probably have others.”

“Aye.”

Aye, she mouthed again as she had the night before, and somehow he found himself kissing her.

On her lips the sweet and sour of the drink exploded across his tongue, inside his head, inside his chest. A warmth that spread through him and rich, exotic flavors that were more intoxicating than any alcohol could ever be. Her free hand found his hair, tangling with it at the nape of his neck. His free hand found her shoulder, squeezing gently at the muscle and bone of her as if not trusting she was real. Their other hands remained joined, linked, like their lips were.

But then she pulled away, looking stricken, casting another infuriating glance at the oblivious Landler at the bar. Did she recognize him? Was she starstruck?

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, then repeated it more loudly and with resolution. “I’m sorry. I can’t—I can’t do this.”

Before he understood what was happening she’d pushed her chair back from the table and rushed out of the café.


	4. Chapter 4

Belle didn’t understand what the two men were playing at. For newlyweds on their honeymoon they were remarkably blasé about each other’s flirting. She understood some people didn’t mind that sort of thing. Some couples lived their lives differently than Belle could really understand living. Or loving. But something in her just couldn’t believe Gold could be like that, which was ridiculous because she’d just met him and didn’t know him at all, in spite of his flattering interest in her knowledge of local history and how close he’d sat at dinner and how he’d… _kissed_ her.

She’d always considered herself to be a better than average judge of character; she just couldn’t imagine him being so casual with his heart.

Or perhaps his time with her tonight had been no more than an attempt to make his husband jealous. Payback for all of Landler’s flirting. He hadn’t even sat with them at the café, what was anyone supposed to think about that? If she didn’t know better she doubted she’d even recognize them as a couple.

Of course Gold would be upset; _of course_ he’d want to make a point to his errant beloved.

But Belle wanted no part of it.

She nodded to herself as she walked back to Pacha and Chicha’s. No matter how attractive his accent or his eyes or his soft, cool hair, no matter how his light touch made her skin burn or his lips made her breath shallow and weak, she would keep herself firmly out of his relationship with his husband. She would be professional. She would keep her distance and maintain decorum.

Pacha was still out on the Inca Trail for a few more days but Chicha was in bed, still awake it seemed, the light of the TV in the bedroom flickering on the hallway wall as Belle walked softly past it towards the stairs to her attic room.

She needed sleep to clear her head. Chicha had become a dear friend, albeit a naturally motherly one with a tendency to forget she wasn’t that much older than Belle was, but Belle couldn’t face her with her current state of mind so conflicted.

Not that she was at all conflicted about the handsome, _married_ Scotsman.

* * *

 

It had to be his fault somehow. He was the obvious common denominator in women leaving him in boredom or whatever could be said of Cora having left him, _twice!_ , or whatever had driven Belle away the night before, but this time he really didn’t understand what had happened, other than his certainty that it had to be his fault.

Fortunately or unfortunately, Landler had been distracted and hadn’t even seen her leave. He couldn’t give him too much grief for having run her off, but he couldn’t explain to Gold what had gone wrong either.

* * *

 

She was distant the next day.

As she led them on their private expedition through the milling groups of larger tours, she spoke just as fervently about the marvels of her adopted home but when he tried to engage her she instantly shut down and moved on, physically as often as verbally, as though she couldn’t stand to be penned in by his presence.

And she practically glared at Landler.

Gold was lost.

* * *

 

It was late midday when they reached Ollantaytambo, once a royal palace, once briefly the stronghold of Manco Inca, a native freedom fighter who’d fought the Spaniards’ rule of his people’s traditional lands.

It was muggy, miserably hot and humid, making tourists and guides alike short-tempered and unpleasant. The crowds jostled, an annoyed Gold grew snappish with so many people standing so close, pressing in on him, nudging him out of their way. Even Landler’s constant cheer began to wilt and Belle’s determined professionalism slip in favor of weariness and waspishness.

Men were stripping off their shirts. Even some of the women were stripping down to sports bras or bikini tops. Landler took off his shirt without shame; Gold took off his older shirt, trying not to be overly conscious of his bare shoulders and arms, small framed, but at least not soft or flabby.

There was a damp smell to the air that accompanied the humidity. In a place he knew better Gold would have guessed it would soon be raining but here the clouds were sparse and distant.

Until suddenly they weren’t, and scarcely had the shadow of the clouds fallen over the ruins where they stood but the sky opened up and the rain began to fall in soaking sheets that blanketed every surface.

At first it felt wonderful and a cheer was raised among the tourists.

The rain was cooling, fat drops of water that gathered over high points and trickled down in rivulets and streams across the bodies of the tourists and walls of the ruins, turning dirt to mud and lawn to spongy swamp. It soaked their clothing and their hair and in minutes it went from a welcome relief and source of giddy laughter to a chilling shower that left the dripping tourists cursing their short-sighted lack of jackets and umbrellas and raingear, almost as quickly as they’d finished complaining of the heat.

Belle, ever prepared, had a small folding umbrella tucked into her large bag and it only took her a moment to have the umbrella out and opened. Landler had disappeared into the crowds, running playfully at first to seek shelter in the ruins when the rain had started, leaving her and Gold together, alone in the crowd that had stayed where they were.

She maybe should have offered it to other tourists, as a tour guide. Should have carried it for them and helped ferry them all from the ruins to the safety of the vehicles that had brought them, but there was a loud, long roll of thunder and it made her already faintly throbbing head produce a quick stabbing through her temples and she knew she wouldn’t be trekking back and forth through the mud and the cold to bring spoiled travelers in out of the rain.

They wouldn’t melt if they had to stand out for a bit longer and queue for their buses and trains and cars. She did let Gold huddle under her umbrella as they raced for their car, she couldn’t be that ungracious, though she was uncomfortable with how close he was—able to smell his aftershave, her arms briefly scalded by his as they brushed limbs under the small umbrella. The smell of his skin was stronger in the damp, perhaps because more of it was bared than she’d grown used to seeing though he was hardly scandalous in his sleeveless undershirt with its wide, deep, open neck that revealed so much of _his_ elegant neck, muscled but slim as the rest of him.

Kronk had waited in the car, and wordlessly opened it, settling a soaking Gold and Belle into the backseat and amiably insisting that Belle gave him the umbrella to go look for Landler, letting her lay back in the car and try to warm up with the blankets he’d pulled from the trunk and nurse her aching head.

Gold didn’t say anything other than a brief word of thanks in return for a blanket of his own.

She tried not to notice how quiet, how _intimate_ it was in the back of the car, just the two of them, the rain drowning out the noise of the word outside. How he filled the space and smelled of damp skin and aftershave. How his longish hair hung in little, dripping ropes, little curls where it was usually full, soft waves—not that she’d paid attention to his hair.

The windows fogged, the humidity inside and out in steamy conflict over the glass.

“I’m sorry,” he said at last, not looking at her, while she traced a spiral labyrinth over the window on her side.

“What for?” she asked, trying to be cool. Trying not to sound hurt or affected at all if he thought he could use her in some game he was playing with someone else.

“I don’t—” he made a wordless sound of frustration. A breath, a snort of derision. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

Kronk and Landler reached the car, suddenly appearing out of the fog and rain-haze. She practically jumped out to take her place in the front passenger side, leaving the back seat to the strange couple.

* * *

 

Kronk took his place at the wheel as placidly as ever but Landler brought with him an ebullient energy, running his hands through his wet hair and shaking it like a ill-trained dog as he slid in beside Gold, who swatted with irritation at the airborne drops.

“Lovely! Absolutely charming!” the Austrian exclaimed happily. “A beautiful view in a beautiful country!”

“It’s just rain,” Gold groused. “If you like it so much you should have visited Scotland instead of Peru. They’ve plenty of it.”

“I was talking about all the tourists who were taking off their tops—and the soaked-through shirts of the ones who didn’t,” Landler corrected with a grin that made Belle’s stomach churn.

Although they were in the car they couldn’t leave yet. It could be dangerous to drive while the rain was coming down so hard and the parking lot was full of vehicles trying to make it out now anyway.

“Besides, it wasn’t as though _I_ picked Peru. You’re just lucky I took pity on you and was available to accompany you and keep you from descending entirely into _die Flaute_.”

“I’d consider myself luckier if you’d take pity on me and pay for your half of the trip,” he muttered, but Belle had already turned to stare at the two men in the seat behind her.

“But I thought—the email from the company said you—it said this was a honeymoon…”

Gold inhaled sharply. “How… _thorough_ of them,” he said under his breath. “Alas, my bride-to-be decided to back out the night before the wedding and left me with a ‘honeymoon’ trip I’d already paid for and no one to go along with but this annoying hanger-on—”

Landler’s laugh was so sudden and loud that even Kronk started.

“But _you_ thought—you believed _we_ —”

Belle turned around in her seat and faced determinedly forward while the laughter from the back seat behind her didn’t stop. The silence from the other side of the seat however was ponderous.

“¿Qué le pasa?” Kronk asked, prompting another peal of laughter from the gleeful Austrian who was apparently _not_ married to Mr. Gold by any law of man or god, judging by his hilarity at the very idea.

She wasn’t interested in getting into that with Kronk though. What was wrong with that cackling lunatic? “Soroche,” she answered firmly. Everyone reacted to the altitude differently, it was as good an explanation as any.

“¿Necesita un médi—”

“No!”

Belle reached for the radio.

It was a long, awkward trip back to the hotel.


	5. Chapter 5

“She thought we were—” Landler burst out again as they let themselves back into their suite.

“I am aware,” Gold said severely, hoping to cut off any more of his friend’s hilarity.

“You know what this means?”

“I can’t wait for you to inform me.” He glared and rubbed his arm where Landler had swatted him as he’d bounded past.

“ _It means,_ that now she knows we’re _not_ a couple and she’s not stepping on any toes—”

“Oh God!” He felt his eyes widen as the realization struck. “It means she’s been _pitying_ me. Every time you flirted with someone—everyone—everything that moves—”

Landler frowned. “I’m not that bad.”

“You are,” he said absently, collapsing on the couch next to him.

“There’s nothing wrong with being friendly!”

Gold ignored him. It was worse…because it wasn’t untrue. He might not be trying to make a romance work with Landler the Philanderer, but he really hadn’t been able to make one work with Cora. He _was_ pathetic. An object of pity for beautiful, soft-voiced, blue-eyed, chestnut-haired tour guides.

He winced when Landler elbowed him sharply in the side.

“But now you know why she hasn’t been responding to your overtures. It’s not just because you have no game, it’s because she thought you were taken and she couldn’t possibly compete with me.”

He glared. “I don’t think that’s quite what she was thinking—”

“But now it’s all cleared up! All you have to do is charm her. Back on the horse!”

“She’s not a horse!”

* * *

 

But Landler wasn’t entirely off the mark.

There was nothing wrong in pursuing a vacation fling. He was single in spite of his best efforts. He didn’t actually know that she was, now that he thought about it, but she had kissed him in the tavern and she didn’t seem the sort to do that if she was otherwise spoken for, what with her pitying, annoyed looks—now it all made sense!—while Landler flirted.

The next morning they were to leave Cusco for Machu Picchu. They packed, they ate in the restaurant and waited for Kronk and Belle to pick them up to deliver them to the train station. He could make his move on the train.

Or so he thought, but apparently that was not to be.

* * *

 

“But—but, you’re our guide! How can you not be coming with us?”

“Well I…I mean I’ll meet you there,” Belle stammered. “But Los Imperios de Oro isn’t paying for _me_ to take the Hiram Bingham.”

“How are you getting there then?”

“The Expedition. And it’s leaving in a minute, which is why Kronk will have to see you off, since you’re not departing for another hour and a half. I’ll be there to meet you at the station in Machu Picchu and get you settled in your hotel there.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

“Well then what—”

“He doesn’t travel well,” Landler interrupted, perhaps taking pity on him. He didn’t mean to give the impression that he was angry with her, but this wasn’t going according to plan. “Makes him nervous. You remember how he was when we got off the plane.”

He had the feeling Landler was making some gesture behind his back but when he turned, eyes narrowed, his friend’s hands were down at his side and he was wearing a suspiciously innocent expression.

“Oh, you should have said something,” Belle said. “I could have gotten you some Mareol for the trip.”

“I’m sure I’ll be…fine,” he gritted out.

Then he was completely and entirely distracted by her small hand suddenly resting on his arm. “I’m sure you will be,” she said warmly. Soothingly. “And I promise, I’ll be there to meet you on the other side. It’s a beautiful ride and you’ll be on an amazing train. I’m sure you’ll—” she faltered. Her hand fell away and she took a step back, seeming embarrassed. “You’ll love it,” she finished.

“Yes,” agreed, fairly certain he’d have agreed with anything she’d said right then. Especially if she’d look up at him again. Even more especially if she’d touch him again.

Then she did look up, and smiled a little, and he’d swear his very heart stopped.

“See you soon,” she said, and then she was gone and he wasn’t sure how long he’d stood staring at the place where she’d been but he suspected it had been a while because Landler chuckled while he slung his arm over his shoulders and led him away, patting consolingly at his chest.

* * *

 

Belle waited nervously for the train to pull in, thinking that this felt all too familiar. She did hope she would find Mr. Gold to be less green this time around, and hopefully much less grumpy, but she had a bag of ginger candies in her purse and an order of _mate de coca_ on standby back at the hotel just in case.

His and Mr. Landler’s luggage had gone ahead with her and she’d already seen it delivered to their room at the hotel in Aguas Calientes.

It was a smaller crowd off of the luxurious and expensive Hiram Bingham than had gotten off of The Expedition and her charges were much easier to spot this time around. She didn’t even need the sign.

She smiled and waved and tried not to let herself dwell on how much it pleased her to see him—them—smiling and waving back.

* * *

 

She hadn’t thought much about what it would be like to not have Kronk with them but he’d only been hired to drive them in Cusco, in Aguas Calientes they were on their own.

Which left her crammed—not snuggled, no, not that—between the two men in the back of a rundown taxi who’s driver had not looked amused when she’d tried to get in in front, with him.

“I, uh, scheduled our visit to the ruins for tomorrow, since we’re booked for the afternoon trains back. In case you weren’t feeling up to it yet.” She kept her gaze forward because she knew she’d find him entirely too close if she turned her head.

She’d been to see Machu Picchu many times, to study, with friends, to explore. Aguas Calientes wasn’t a big town and the one main street through it wasn’t that interesting but she refused to let her gaze wander.

“If you’re feeling up to it there’s an animal sanctuary attached to the hotel. Oh, and gardens and a short nature walk. There are several excellent spas in town and of course, the hot springs—”

“Ah, yes, the hot springs. How could we visit a place called Aguas Calientes and not see the hot springs?” Landler asked.

“Yes. How could you?” she said weakly.

* * *

 

“So—your friend is an actor?” Belle said archly, barely suppressing a giggle.

“Indeed,” Gold drawled, contentedly sprawling out on the bench under the softly steaming water.

“I’m sorry I didn’t recognize him. I don’t see a lot of movies,” she said, losing out against the giggle as she waded over to the bench that was kitty-corner from his.

He shrugged. “He’s bigger on German TV. He just made his Hollywood debut last year, but he had a lot more…hair,” he said, smirking and gesturing down from his chin to indicate a beard. “He’s not so recognizable from that.”

She splashed a small wave in his direction. “Well that group of women when we came in certainly seemed to recognize him.”

He slid a little closer to the corner of the stone-lined pool. A little closer to her.

“The better for us.”

“It _is_ much quieter this way.”

“I’m always telling him he talks too much.”

“I didn’t mean—”

But he was already laughing softly at her stumbling attempts to explain. “Oh, don’t worry. Josef’s ego’s not that fragile. And I’m sure he’s enjoying all the attention.”

She shook her head and slid a little closer to him too. “I bet. So are you also an actor? Are you big in Scotland? Is that _your_ secret?”

He smirked. “Ah, no. My big secret seems to be that I’m not a married man,” he teased.

She humphed and crossed her arms and tried to look out of sorts but she wasn’t very good at it and her smile peeked through at the corners of her mouth. “Oh, fine. Just make fun of me, why don’t you. I was just going by the email I got from the company.”

His expression softened and it was he who looked away. “It was—it was sweet. You felt bad when you thought he was running around on me and flirting right in front of me. I think it was very kind of you to be so concerned.”

She rolled her eyes and uncrossed her arms. “Well, no one deserves to be treated like that.”

Where was she when his first wife was so intent on making him a laughing stock, he wondered wryly, but he kept that bitter question to himself.

There was something tenuous between them and he didn’t want to stain it with remembrances of his past relationships.

When he reached out through the water and laid his hand over hers she licked her lips and laced her fingers with his.

“I like listening to you talk about the ruins,” he told her. “And about the history of the Inca and the people of Peru. You’re very passionate.”

“Most people think I’m boring when I get started like that,” she said, her smile softening the words but the way she seemed to search his eyes belied her casual self-deprecation.

“But it’s fascinating! I’ve always loved—”

He was startled by her lips on his. By the sudden warm weight of her on his lap. She was wearing a little yellow bikini; everywhere he touched it was skin-to-skin and his breath caught and his body reacted predictably. He laughed and groaned and tried to slid her a little away on his lap, just enough that he wouldn’t embarrass himself, but her hand was under the water and under his trunks and he gasped while she chuckled at him and _squeezed_.

“I felt guilty,” she confessed, nipping at his jaw while his head spun and his blood rushed in his ears. “You’re so handsome—”

He scoffed and one of her hands slid across his chest while the other slid below, stroking, grasping—

“—and I felt so guilty feeling that way. Thinking about you that way…”

“So handsome while I was vomiting in the bushes outside the hotel? So handsome while I was swatting at flies in the Plaza?”

“So handsome,” she agreed, all but purring, rubbing her chest across his.

“Belle,” he groaned, fighting for breath and coherent thought while she licked the mineral water of the hot springs off his neck.

“Gold,” she whispered, and he finally managed to push her away, though it was an effort, especially when she pouted at him, flushed, her full, delicious lips poked out in a sulk.

“Christoph,” he told her. “My name is Christoph. Let’s go somewhere more private, hmm?”


	6. Chapter 6

It wasn’t how she’d imagined this tour would go.

_His lips at her throat. His hands on her hips._

Certainly not when she’d read that it was rich American newlyweds.

_His lips on her breasts. His hands between her legs._

Certainly not when she’d met him, glaring and pale and slightly rumpled from the plane.

_His lips on her—Oh! …his hands curled around her thighs, holding them apart._

She called his name— _Christoph. Fuck, Christoph!_ And a startled bird chattered angrily at the noise from a tree outside his balcony where the tamed fringes of the cloud forest loomed misty green and secretive.

No, this was not like any tour she’d led before.

* * *

 

“You left me at the hot springs!” Landler announced, as though they could have not noticed they’d done it.

Belle blushed, dressed only in a fluffy white robe with the hotel’s monogram. She was the most beautiful thing Gold had ever seen, even with a smear of mustard at the corner of her mouth from the hamburger she’d been wolfing down. He probably shouldn’t be _so_ proud for helping her work up that appetite but he couldn’t help himself. He didn’t even try to hide his self-satisfied smile.

She tried to pull her feet away from his under the table where they were seated on the balcony but he playfully caught one of them between his and smirked when she stuck out her tongue. Who cared what Landler thought of any of it?

“We left a taxi waiting on you. Belle insisted.”

“I could have been kidnapped!”

Gold reached out and stole the fry Belle had been about to eat right from her hand, licking her fingertips clean of the salt, enjoying the way her gaze seemed to sharpen on his lips and the way her breath deepened.

He honestly didn’t have it in him to be very concerned about anything else at the moment. “You were fine. Surrounded by your adoring public. They wouldn’t have let anything happen to you.”

Gold wasn’t sure where Belle was supposed to have spent the night, but he was glad they’d ended up with a two room suite.

* * *

 

He’d read about the view from the gates of Machu Picchu as the sun rose—but Belle laughed that idea away.

“You won’t see anything until the fog burns off, except all the other tourists trying to see the same thing. Trust me,” she said.

And he did.

The three of them lazed around the hotel room, then the hotel pool as the day wore on, until Belle finally announced that it was late enough to visit the city. He didn’t like sharing her, but he was glad that when she wasn’t worried about the state of his heart, she didn’t seem to pay any more than friendly attention to his traveling companion.

Machu Picchu was as beautiful as he’d read. As beautiful as the pictures he’d seen in books and online. A marvel of engineering and culture at the top of the world.

He took his pictures. The temples and terraces, the houses and the walls. Inti Watana, Inti Mach'ay, and the Temple of the Condor.

It was a fascinating history and a fascinating world and Belle positively glowed with the pleasure of sharing it with them.

But there was a growing awareness in the back of his mind that all too soon it was going to be over. A vacation fling inevitably had to end when the vacation did, and he and Landler were leaving for the second part of their trip the next morning, when a plane would take them to Rio de Janeiro. One night—two, if he could keep her with him when they returned to Cusco, hardly seemed enough.

* * *

 

Belle tried to focus on her tour—the best she’d ever given, for Pacha and Chicha and their little tour company and their children whose home and food were paid for by that little tour company—but, unaccountably, she was having a hard time focusing on the history that had fascinated her for so long.

She couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that in a few hours they’d be boarding separate trains back to Cusco, and in a matter of hours after that, Gold— _Christoph_ —would be boarding a plane for Brazil, while she was left to watch it fly away.

* * *

 

“You did _what?_ ”

“I didn’t want to travel back without you,” he said.

“When do you even have time to do this?”

He waved airily, as though the hundreds of dollars she knew a ticket for the Hiram Bingham would cost was nothing to him. “The concierge at the hotel arranged it. It’s not a big deal. I just didn’t want you to have to travel back on a separate train like…like…”

“Like an employee?” she demanded, since it’s what she was and there was nothing wrong with that, as far as she was concerned. “You couldn’t even ask me first?”

At least that seemed to get through to him. “Ah. Perhaps I should have—”

“Yes, perhaps you should!”

Landler slipped between them, tsking and wrapping his arms around them both. “Now, now, is there really a need for all this fuss? Such bad energy and so little point in it.”

“You don’t—”

“Understand? You’re right. Have you ever _been_ on the Hiram Bingham? Simply a gorgeous train. Spacious seating, entertainment, five star dining, and champagne that’s not half bad. How can you claim to be a tour guide if you haven’t tasted everything that there is to experience in your lovely little corner of the world?”

She could feel herself starting to crumble. He made it sound so sensible.

“Good, good,” he continued, as though she’d already agreed. “See how easy it all becomes when we’re logical. I’ll leave you two to finish packing. Do, please, use this time to finish packing though—I know this gives you and extra hour, but we still don’t want to miss our train.”

* * *

 

“Still mad?” Christoph asked her.

To her left, a breathtaking view of mountain and valley; on the table between them her half eaten plate of Vegetables Pachamanca and his of Bife de Maras; before her, an even more breathtaking view of Christoph Gold, with his crooked smile and his shy glance filtered through his over-long hair.

She sighed.

“No.”

It was all she managed to say before the music began and the brightly dressed dancers appeared at the end of the car.

* * *

 

“¿Tuviste un buen viaje?” Kronk asked, reaching for the suitcases, not commenting on the fact that he was picking her and the luggage up from the Hiram Bingham. It wasn’t a surprise, since she’d texted him so he wouldn’t bother to arrive earlier to meet The Explorer, but she still would have thought it warranted some reaction.

Maybe he was just more used to adjusting for the whims of the sort of people who could afford private, chauffeured tour packages.

That was an oddly depressing thought.

“Sí,” she said. And it had been good. She just wasn’t ready for it to be over.

* * *

 

“You’re not really planning on leaving for Rio in the morning.”

“Would you drop it?” Gold hissed and undid his tie—again—retying it—again.

 “Certainly. It’s just that since you made such an interesting… _friend_ on this trip, it seems so ungracious to run off like that.”

“I’m not sure that you’re aware that ‘Certainly’ usually means you are agreeing to do what you’ve just been asked to do.”

“I am nothing if not agreeable. You, however, have a much harder time making _friends_.”

“Josef—”

“And such beautiful, sweet, intelligent friends? _I_ would not be so quick to dash off to another country just because the itinerary for a trip I’d paid for myself said I was supposed to.”

“Josef!”

* * *

 

She knew he’d wanted her to stay the night but standing in the lobby of the hotel, his hand warm at the small of her back while he leaned down to kiss her, she knew she couldn’t do it.

It would be better to leave those memories behind in Machu Picchu. At least she didn’t have to live there. It would already be bad enough leaving him at the airport the next morning.

She arched up into his kiss, up onto her toes, letting his arms close around her, letting hers wrap around him while her fingers tangled in his hair and she inhaled deeply to catch all she could of the scent of him.

She wouldn’t deny herself this. This much she would take for herself.

When she pulled away she could tell he’d recognized it for the goodbye it was.

“I’m sorr—”

He was already walking away, stiffly, shaking his head.

* * *

 

Landler tried a few times to break the silence on the way to the airport the next morning but Gold’s dark mood had finally cast its pall even over his irrepressible companion. Or perhaps it was Belle’s that did it, sullen and silent as Gold’s. Only Kronk seemed oblivious, humming tunelessly along with the radio.

They didn’t touch. Didn’t even speak their goodbyes or make eye contact. He seemed to think it was already done and she was too proud to argue.

She did watch the planes as Kronk drove her back from the airport. She didn’t know which one might have been his, coming in or going, but she watched them.


	7. Chapter 7

“Oh sweetie, it’ll be alright. Don’t worry. Let it out. It’ll all be alright…” Chicha crooned, her huge belly not leaving much space for Belle to sob into her lap.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I know I’m being ridiculous but—”

“Shhh. There’s nothing wrong with a good cry. Sometimes there’s nothing better.”

“It was only a few days. No one gets their heart broken after a few days!”

Chicha just stared for a moment before she went back to smoothing Belle’s hair. “Uh huh. Of course not.”

* * *

 

At least with the tour done Belle could help Chicha around the house again. She should have contacted the University and arranged more hours now that she was available, but for the time being it was more comforting puttering around Chicha and Pacha’s house, helping tidy, helping cook, watching the kids, helping Chicha get ready for the baby that was due at almost any moment.

It amused Belle—and made her the slightest bit jealous—that Pacha texted or called several times a day, to check in with his wife, to check on his kids, and to keep Chicha up to date with the latest tour group, which, to hear him tell of it, included the most obnoxious and spoiled young man that Pacha had ever had the misfortune of meeting.

It was life back to normal. She only hoped that either Pacha or Chicha would be able to handle any further private tours for Los Imperios de Oro.

* * *

 

Something was ringing by her head.

Belle blinked blurrily, but it was completely dark in her room, and there was only more darkness when she looked in the direction of her shutters, which meant it was far too early for the alarm on her cell phone to be going off.

She patted at her bed until her hand met plastic and she could check the screen.

Chicha was calling her? From downstairs?

She hit answer and before she could say anything to express her confusion a loud wail emitted from the speaker.

With a gasp she clambered out of bed. “Chicha?”

“The baby. The baby’s coming. The baby’s coming _now!_ ” she panted between deep and hissing breaths.

“Are, are you sure?” Belle had shoved her feet into the sandals she kept by the bed and was already halfway down the stairs.

“This is my third baby, I know what it feels like when a baby is coming, and I need to get to the hospital _now!_ ”

She found Chicha sitting on the edge of the couch in the living room, her legs braced and spread to make room for her belly, her hands fisted on her knees.

“What should I do?” Belle asked helplessly, the phone still held stupidly to her ear.

“Get…Mrs. Ramos from next door…to come sit with the children. And get…me…to the hospital.”

Belle rushed to the front door and opened it, to see Christoph Gold sitting on the stoop. He stood as soon as he saw her, taking in her obvious panic with wide-eyes. “Belle…?”

She growled. “I don’t have time right now! Go inside and help Chicha. I have to get Mrs. Ramos,” she said, pushing past him as if any of that should make sense to him.

Fortunately the kind older woman from next door wasn’t a deep sleeper and it only took her a moment to understand Belle’s fear-fractured Spanish and hurry back with her.

There was already a taxi pulling up to the house—they were lucky, it must have been close—and Christoph was leading Chicha carefully down the stairs even as Belle and Mrs. Ramos arrived.

“What’re you doing here?” Belle muttered, claiming Chicha’s free hand, wincing at the strength of the other woman’s grip.

“I came back. For you—”

“Hospital!” Chicha growled as she dropped into the back seat of the taxi, and there was no more time for talking.

* * *

 

“You’re so pretty,” Belle crooned softly to the baby in her arms.

“She really is,” Chicha whispered in soft, weary agreement. Then she laughed. “Pacha’s going to be crazy that he missed this.”

“It hardly seems like there was anything to miss. They’d barely managed to get you into a room before she was out. The doctor didn’t get to do anything but walk by and catch her.”

“Hah! Just because I make it look easy doesn’t mean it is,” Chicha said, giddily reaching to take her new daughter back. “And just because this stubborn little one was impatient to come out and meet us doesn’t mean it wasn’t work getting her out here.”

Belle stroked the little head with its thick, downy black hair and smiled.

“You’ll see someday,” Chicha said, leaning back into her pillows.

“I suppose.”

“In the meantime…”

“Hmm?” Belle murmured dreamily, still stroking the baby.

“Don’t you think you should go out and see your man?”

“My _man?_ ” Belle pulled away, wrinkling her nose.

“Well, the man who seems to have flown back from Rio de Janiero to see you. The one who called a taxi to get me to the hospital to have my baby—he gets points in _my_ book for that part.”

* * *

 

Belle sighed and Christoph looked up.

They were alone in the waiting room.

He looked terrible. Worse than Chicha, who’d lit up with an inner glow once she’d been able to hold her baby and had just looked tired as Belle had left her.

“Drinking again? Or is it motion sickness this time? Or altitude sickness?”

He smiled a little, cocking his head, the slight, hopeful sparkle in his eyes brightening his drawn expression just a bit.

“None of the above? …I missed you.”

She shook her head, holding her arms crossed in front of her. “We don’t know each other. We only met a few days ago. We hardly spent any time together and I spent most of it thinking you were married.”

He leaned back in the flimsy plastic seat, looking too tired to keep leaning forward out of it. He nodded. “You’re right.”

She deflated. Of course she was right. That didn’t mean he was supposed to agree with her.

“But I’m here now. Let’s get to know each other.”

She snorted. “And how long is ‘now?’ Another week of vacation? A week and a half?”

He shrugged. “A while. I’m rather lucratively self-employed, I can stay as long as I like and as long they don’t kick me out of the country.”

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

“I have to work. I’m _not_ self-employed. And I work at the University on top of that…What will you do while I’m busy not being self-employed?”

A genuine smile spread across his face. “Write,” he said promptly. “My little hobby. It’s how I met Josef. I wrote the screenplay for the movie he just did. Based on a book I wrote. Peru would be a good setting for the next one, I think.” His gaze grew briefly shrewder. “Maybe I can even treat some of this as a business expense.”

She blinked. “I didn’t know you were a writer,” she said, ignoring the rest.

“Now you do.”

She bit her lip.

Then she smiled and slowly nodded. “I guess I do. So, what do you write?” she asked, moving to sit beside him.


End file.
